


Stone Soup [Podfic included]

by Mousek



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Gen, Podfic, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, Pre-Canon, Young Jean, Young Locke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mousek/pseuds/Mousek
Summary: In which Locke gets his name, and Jean gets conned.Podfic and text available! If you would rather read the text, just scroll down.
Relationships: Locke Lamora & Jean Tannen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Stone Soup [Podfic included]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/gifts).



> Thanks to embraidery for excellent editing help!

  


[Direct Dropbox download link](https://www.dropbox.com/s/lmy93i7zt5459om/Stone%20Soup.mp3?dl=0)

"_The truth is, I didn’t know about the apt translation when I took the name. I borrowed it from this old sausage dealer who was kind to me once, back in Catchfire before the plague. I just liked the way it sounded._"

A small boy sat on a rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. His stomach grumbled as the smell of sausages wafted up from below. It was a cruelty to have such an empty stomach right above such a good sausage dealer. 

But, then again, if all went according to plan, his stomach would soon be a good deal fuller. 

The boy watched the sausage dealer — Lamora, the dealer’s name was — stir the coals and add four sausages to the grill, each almost as thick around as the boy’s scrawny arm. They sizzled as they hit the grill, releasing a new wave of aroma so thick the boy could practically eat the air.

His stomach growled, twisting itself into an angry knot. He hadn’t eaten much  _ but  _ air for the past few days. That’s what this little rooftop mission was about: reconnaissance. 

The boy scampered down the building into an alley via the “windowsills and clotheslines” route. He didn’t quite  _ get _ clotheslines. All these garments, just free for the taking! He may have wanted for food, but he had always been able to find himself a properly sized shirt when he grew out of an old one. Not that that happened much. More frequently, he grabbed a new one when he needed to look clean. As he descended he grabbed one for just that purpose.

On the ground, the boy removed his own shirt and tossed it up onto the clothesline that was now short a shirt. He put on his new one, breathing in the freshly washed, soapy scent. It was still slightly damp, but it would dry faster once it was on. 

He made his way to the mouth of the alley, settled down, and pulled his bag into his lap. He had a perfect view of Lamora, which meant that the sausage dealer would have a perfect view of him, too; he needed a pretext for being there. He pulled some potatoes and a small knife out of his bag. Through a bit of sleight of hand, he made it look like he was letting the peelings fall on the ground — a sensible reason for his mother to tell him to take this task outside — while actually letting them fall right back into his bag. Unless his plan went very, very well, he wasn’t going to waste the peels any more than he’d waste the potatoes. Such an illusion wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny, but Lamora was halfway down the block, so the boy shouldn’t have any problems.

As he worked, he kept one eye on a second-floor window where Lamora’s wife was sewing a small shirt, and the other down the street. When a fat boy with a bag full of papers turned the corner, he took it as his cue. He looked down the alley, as if someone were calling him, and threw his potatoes back into his bag. He ran down the street, coming to a stop in front of Lamora. 

“Sir! Your wife sent me to carry a message to you! She said to tell you that she’s going into labor, and she needs you right now!”

“What?”

“You’re Lamora the sausage dealer, right? Your wife said she might end up needing a doctor, so she needs you back home right now!”

With that, Lamora threw down his tongs and hurried down the street even faster than the boy had run to get to him, entirely forgetting his grill.

The boy placed himself behind the grill, taking ownership of the space as if the sausages had been bequeathed to him in his great-grandmother’s will. He carefully poured a flask of water over the coals, extinguishing the fire. Just as Lamora was safely out of sight, the fat boy was reaching Lamora’s grill. 

“Hey!” the boy called. “Can you help me out? I got sent here to move this grill over down aways, but it’s too heavy for me.”

The fat boy barely glanced up, though he did slow down. 

“We can give you some good food if ya help us out,” the little thief said hopefully.

“Sure, I can spare some time. My name’s Jean. Is this your father’s stand?”

“No. Me and a few others did him a favor a bit back, and he promised us we could borrow it in exchange.”

Jean grasped the handles on one side of the grill, the small boy taking the other side. 

“You lead,” Jean said, lifting it up. 

As they moved down the street (one of the two having a much harder time than the other), Jean asked, “So, what’s the plan with this? Where are we going, and who’s cooking?”

“We’re taking it down to the south side of Catchfire, nearabouts to Ashfall,” he said in between breaths. “Wish I could take it all the way to Ashfall, but I don’t fancy dragging this over a catbridge.”

“Twelve gods, no. And certainly not back, either. This thing is heavy.” He didn’t miss that only one of his questions had been answered, but he let it go, for the moment.

“Well, it is filled with rocks. Would never be able to carry it on my own.”

“Rocks?” Jean asked, shock plain on his face.

“Coal, rocks, same difference.”

“Oh. That kind of rock. For a moment I thought this was a cruel joke.”

“Be a cruel joke to be playing on myself.”

It would have taken them only ten minutes to walk their route under normal circumstances, but as it were the boy indicated that they could put it down after only about twenty. 

They settled the grill in a near-deserted alley: Almost everyone in this area worked down on the wharf, fishing or selling fish, and so was gone during the day. The boy pulled a dented pot from underneath a discarded pile of boards — he had stashed it there earlier in the day in preparation.

“Jean, go fill this halfway with water, would you? There’s a pump over that way.”

While Jean was gone, the boy rekindled the fire (with the assistance of some of the smaller pieces of wood) and put the plump, partially-cooked sausages back on. The sizzling, spicy scent soon drew another young urchin, who watched from afar until the boy called to her.

“Hey! I see you watching. You look like you’re wanting some of these, no?”

“Well, yeah, I want some,” she said. “But I haven’t got any money to buy one, so smells is all it is for me.”

“Not today, it doesn’t have to be. See, I’ve got a magic rock, right here.” He fished a smooth, polished stone out of his pocket. Black and shiny, it looked almost like a piece of Elderglass — although, of course, that would be impossible. “And this rock, now it can turn any old pot of water into a pot of soup. So since alls I’ve got to do is heat it up, I’d be happy to share some soup with you. The thing is, the soup’s better if I add things to it, which is why I’ve got these sausages here and some potatoes. Think you could find me something else to add to it?”

The girl nodded and scampered off just as Jean returned. 

“Thanks, Jean. Just put that on the grill for me. And if you could start chopping the potatoes from my bag into the pot, we’ll be on our way to some good soup in no time.”

As the noise of Jean’s knife combined with the aroma of the sausages, more street kids were drawn out. The boy noticed a huddle of them watching from a roof, just as he had watched Lamora this morning. 

“Hey, all you up there! You’re welcome to share my soup. See I’ve got a magic rock right here, and it’ll turn this pot of plain water into soup. Only it’s a bit better if I add things to it. Think you could grab something extra?”

The small faces ducked away from the edge of the roof as the kids scrambled down and scattered through the nearby alleys. 

When the first girl came back, she did so bearing a handful of carrots. 

“These gonna be alright?” she asked. 

“Perfect! Hand them over to Jean, he’ll chop them up. And, Jean, once you add the carrots, add this stone too. It’s about time for it to go in.”

Jean dubiously took the stone, but did as he had been asked.

“Can I taste it?” the girl asked.

“Not yet. The stone hasn’t had time to work. Go find yourself a bowl for when it’s ready.”

With each child who returned, the scent of stew became thicker. They added rice and beans, tomatoes and mushrooms. It seemed that each new addition brought another hungry street kid, who in turn left and came back with something else to add. One fisherwoman, limping home early, even handed over some baitfish that hadn’t been used that day. The boy grilled them up and flaked the meat into the stew.

By the time an hour had passed, there was a veritable horde of people watching the boy stir their contributions into the pot.

“Okay!” he finally announced. “The stone has worked. The soup is ready. Jean, as my assistant, you can have the honor of first taste.”

The boy dropped a ladle into Jean’s bowl. The crowd watched eagerly as he lifted it to his lips. Jean’s eyes lit up as he tasted his first sip. “This is really good!”

“And it’s all thanks to your contributions!” the boy added. “So step up and hold out your bowls.”

There was a brief moment of chaos as the children elbowed each other out of the way, vying for their bowl of soup. But there was enough to go around and then some, and within a few minutes even the chef was slurping at his bowl, feeling the warmth go straight into his stomach. He and Jean had seconds, thirds, Jean even had a fourth bowl, before finally the pot was almost empty and the crowd dispersed. 

The boy left the pot on the grill, one serving of soup and a stone left in the bottom. He dumped the potato peelings into the gutter — they hadn’t been needed after all. And, finally, he turned to Jean. 

“Ready to help me bring this grill back?”

“Seems like it’ll be easier now that I’ve got a full stomach.” He moved to take up his side of the grill. “Are we leaving the last bit of soup in the pot?” 

“Yep. Lift on three?” 

“Ready when you are. Why leave the last of the soup?”

“Just in case.”

They travelled back through the Catchfire streets, the grill seeming lighter by half (not in the least because most of the coal had burned up).

At the end of Lamora’s usual street, the boy signaled that they should stop. 

“Let’s leave the grill here.”

“Not bringing it back all the way?” Jean asked.

“No, I don’t want to —”

“You there!” Lamora roared. “What have you been doing with my grill?”

“Making soup, sir.”

Lamora turned to Jean. “Have  _ you _ been involved with this too?” 

“He hasn’t!” the boy interjected. “Jean’s the one who insisted that I bring the grill back, said if I didn’t he’d turn me in.”

“Well, in that case, Jean, you’d better run off right now before I think too hard about this story.”

“You, on the other hand. Boy, you lied about my wife, stole my grill, ate my sausages — what’s to prevent me from turning you straight in?”

“I brought you soup, sir?”

Lamora looked into the pot. He took a ladle of the soup and raised it to his lips. 

“Where’d an urchin like you get such a good soup?”

“Made it myself from the stone. It’s a magic stone, it can turn anything into soup.”

“A rock makes soup?”

“Yessir. You can keep it if you like.” 

“What a right fine boy  _ you _ are. You think you could take anything from me, take my grill, take my sausages, if you could you’d probably try to take my good  _ name _ even! And in return you offer me a  _ rock? _ ”

Lamora… come to think of it, that was a good name. The boy might just have to take him up on that. Lamora… 

“Get out! If I catch you near my sausages again, you’ll be getting hauled up a bridge with some weights on your ankles! You’d better appreciate my good heart and kindness, boy, because even I can barely believe I’m letting you off like this. I suppose I’m just too thrilled to have my grill back, I can’t think straight. Now go! Get out!” 

The boy, now called Lamora, knew when it was time to hightail it. He ran down the street and turned the corner at the end of the block.

He was surprised to see Jean waiting there, face creased with worry. 

“What are you doing here?” Lamora asked. “We need to run!” 

“I didn’t know what he was going to do to you!”

“Listen, next time someone cons you into assisting a theft, clear out as soon as it’s done unless you want to end up dangling from a rope.” Lamora kept moving, no longer running but walking as hurriedly as he could without looking too suspicious.

Jean followed him. 

“Why’re you sticking with me, anyway? I only used you for your strength.”

“Yes, but you gave me a good meal in exchange. Besides, that sausage dealer is an arse. He used to sell meat and leather to the other merchants, and he cheated everyone. Serves him right for ending up a sausage dealer, I can’t imagine anyone wanted to do business with him.”

“Well. Thanks, I suppose.”

“My pleasure. I ought to be getting back, but it was good to meet you. And thanks for the food!”


End file.
